Chapter 9 #2
Right now, though, I’m dealing with people who have a much better grasp on what’s going on than I do.
Pierre is the only true adult I’ve met here who isn’t a fascist. And though Bes and Cec claim they care about my safety and that of the amulet, they know far more than any one person should, and I don’t trust it.
They’ve also kept me alive at this point, and under Nonna’s direction.
On the increasing chance that I won’t be able to escape from them, I endeavor to gain a deeper introspection on all this.
It’s proving impossible. I’m used to traveling to new and strange places without having to deal in much of the politics of things.
But, from the sound of it, it’s more than a change in a few policies.
If Bes and Cec are correct about the Third Reich, a lot of blood will be shed in the coming years.
And on the heels of a war that nearly destroyed life as we knew it.
It would be hell on earth.
In truth, though, I’m not sure how that’s my concern. What can one person do to change the course of the future of an entire country, much less the world? Better I head home and forget any of this ever happened.
I tell myself it’ll be easy to slip the amulet into one of their pockets, sneak onto the first boat out of here, and never think about them again.
Can I even escape Egypt without Bes and Cec, though? They’re the only reason I’ve made it this far. Can I wholly justify completely abandoning the amulet either, on the chance it’ll end up in the hands of the Third Reich? And without finding out whether it can do what it claims?
No, this isn’t my damned fight. Nor is my curiosity worth dying over. I’m already tired of being chased by fascist soldiers.
I’ll just have to find a way to live with the guilt.
First, though, I need to find a way off this goddamn continent. I pat my pants’ pocket to ensure my father’s switchblade is secure and within easy reach, for when something goes wrong.
Not if, but when.
What I mark to be over three hours since we made our narrow escape, Bes pulls over to the side of the road.
He immediately turns into a near-empty dirt lot and brings the car to a stop. Dirt plumes around us like smoke in the night, obscuring our surroundings.
Before I can take a beat to wonder where we are and why we’ve stopped with no dock in sight, Bes cuts the engine.
And I thought it was quiet before.
When the dust finally settles in the golden blaze of the headlights, I take stock of our surroundings, unable to make out any type of landmark to tell me where I am. The fear of being betrayed again, like I was by Claude, steals into my thoughts and taints them.
“Why are we stopping here?”
In response, Bes flips a switch beside the steering wheel and the headlights tick off. Throwing the door open, he wordlessly steps out into the night.
My eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim light of the street lamps.
Once they do, a large plot of land adjacent to us appears, scattered with an assortment of small white structures.
I swear there’s something growing out of some of them; squinting, I think they must be desert plants.
Though creatures from hell wouldn’t surprise me either, at this point.
Cec finally answers my question. “Well, we can’t simply drive up to the dock and ask for a bloody boat ticket, can we? Unless you want the God Men to find us.”
Shooting him a withering look I abruptly remember he won’t be able to appreciate, I ask, “If we’re not at the docks, then where are we?”
Bes pops back in. “A cemetery near the docks.”
He tosses a black rucksack Cec must’ve grabbed for him back at the museum over his shoulder. I catch a glimpse of his injured arm under the frayed sleeve of what is apparently his best shirt, and don’t notice any fresh blood.
My attention naturally flicks up to Bes’s face, imagining the betrayal there once he realizes I’m gone. That I left without saying goodbye. Not that I owe the man anything, but the guilt of disappearing into the night after he promised to protect me doesn’t sit right in my stomach.
I push past the slight nausea. “A cemetery? You can’t be serious.”
Cec cocks his head, brows furrowed. “No, he’s Bes.”
I glare at him. “I swear you were put on this earth to annoy me.”
His silent, face-splitting grin confirms its truth.
Bes peers back inside the car, tapping his fingers on the metal frame. “It’s as close to the Western dock as I dare get in this ostentatious contraption.”
“Don’t you think someone is going to question an abandoned automobile in a cemetery lot?”
“Most people go out of their way to avoid death,” Bes argues.
Cec pipes up. “Not us, though—the more morbid, the better.”
“Besides,” Pierre cuts in, “I’ll be taking the car back to the museum.”
Bes turns on the ex-curator, surprise drawing his brow up. “That’s not necessary. And I’d feel a lot better if you came with us. We could drop you off in France on our way.”
Pierre shakes his head. “I would feel a lot better if no one knew you’ve been here. If the God Men find your car in this place, then they’ll assume you took a boat. Hopefully, my driving it to the airfield will give you more time to escape undetected.”
Bes crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t like it.”
Pierre leans forward. “We both know what Arturo would think is best.”
I furrow my brow at the mention of the name. Another person who knows Arturo. He must be very prominent in the Egyptian archaeological circles.
“Not that anyone cares to hear my opinion,” I cut in, “but we should do whatever it is Arturo would want.”
Bes glances at me. “Right, then. At least this’ll give us a head start.”
But will it be enough?
“You men sure know how to show a woman a good time,” I say.
Bes wordlessly surveys the graveyard again, gripping the back of his neck.
Cec, however, doesn’t know the meaning of wordless. “We certainly do.”
Unable to delay the inevitable any longer, I climb out of the car.
Yanking my suitcase from beside Cec, I sling my pack over both shoulders.
My shirt sticks uncomfortably to my back, and I grimace.
I hoped the night air would bring some relief from the heat, but it’s not much different than during the day.
At least there’s no added warmth from the sun.
A slight chill accompanies the mildly thicker air here.
The only thing I can compare it to is the lake effect on the shores of Lake Superior.
When both Nonna and I are off for the summer, we drive up from Ann Arbor to stay at her friend’s cabin in the Upper Peninsula for a couple months.
It’s not quite the same, though. While the humidity in Michigan is so dense at times that you feel the need to take a bath every couple hours, I find the desert heat of Egypt to be drier and a bit easier to breathe in.
The smell, however, is the most unwelcome product of this place.
I’m not sure how close we parked to the Mediterranean Sea, but my empty stomach heaves at the stench of dead fish.
Once I find a boat to board, I’m going to have to eat most of the rolled-up paper bag of granola in my bag to settle my insides.
Bes points straight into the black maw before us. “I propose we take a shortcut directly through the cemetery.”
I shrug. “Won’t be my first time stealing through a graveyard in the middle of the night.”
Bes shakes his head. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“It’s not a fetish, right?” Cec asks at my side. “Graveyard gallivanting? That’s definitely something.”
I shove him gently and he catches himself easily on the end of his cane, grinning like a madman.
“Even if it was, that’s none of your damn business.”
He winks a single milky eye. “I’m not hearing a no.”
I point a finger at him. “Careful, or Bes and I will leave you in the cemetery to fend for yourself.”
Chuckling, Bes approaches us. The night does something to him: I expect the darkness to obscure his features, but he comes alive in the moonlight.
His jaw and cheekbones are more pronounced, his hair taking on a blue edge.
And his eyes… for a moment, I swear they flicker with molten silver.
But when I blink, they’re a warm brown again.
I rub at my own eyes, concerned I’m hallucinating again from my traumatic experience today. Keep it together, Hawkins. At least until you find a way out of this place.
Cec folds his hands together in front of him, as if in prayer. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, cousin?”
Bes turns his back to Cec when he’s a breath away. “Don’t tempt me.”
“How swiftly you betray me.” Cec places his hand on Bes’s shoulder while tucking his cane beneath his other arm. “Your own family.”
“Even more reason.”
Bes glances back at the car. “Thank you, Mr. Lacau—for everything.”
He salutes us. “Bonne chance, mes amis.”
Bes strides forward with Cec as his own personal shadow.
All I can do is follow after them, leaving Pierre with the car.
I glance back at him, a mere shadow in the dark cab.
He must be waiting until we’re out of sight before he starts the engine again.
If not for Pierre, we wouldn’t have made it farther than the museum driveway, perhaps the streets beyond.
And Ingrid—or one of the many God Men no doubt lurking in Cairo—would’ve found us.
I shift my focus ahead, forgetting what happened in the past and focusing on what’s ahead: plotting my escape.
I’m surprised by how swiftly and effortlessly the two cousins move together, as if they’ve done this hundreds of times.
They probably have. Crossing the dirt-packed edge of the grounds, they pass the white-stone houses of the dead as if in a synchronized dance.
Cec must trust Bes completely. Even with my perfect eyesight, I wouldn’t be able to follow Bes the way Cec is. It’s remarkable.
I whisper to Cec earnestly, “Why do you need Bes’s help? You were perfectly capable of walking with your cane at the museum.”
His brow furrowed, I recognize that Cec needs to concentrate on the task at hand. Instead, Bes answers.
“He knows the museum well. Even which tiles are cracked or chipped. Places he’s been to before and often are easier to navigate.”
I’m about to respond, when I stumble and nearly fall over a tomb from staring at Bes’s mouth while he talks. I catch myself on the smooth stone, inches from slamming my face into the ground. Heat splashes on my cheeks in embarrassment.
Climbing back to my feet, I concentrate on my footing over the packed sand and loose rocks while he continues.
“Foreign places—places he’s never been to before, or only visited a handful of times—are far more arduous,” Bes explains, “given he has no idea what is or isn’t—”
“Wait,” Cec whispers. “I hear something.”
The three of us stop mid-stride at his command, listening intently for what he heard.
At first, no other sound besides our combined breathing pricks at my ears, and I wonder if he’s pulling a fast one on us. Waiting a little longer, though, I hear it: footsteps. A lot of them.
“Hide,” Bes murmurs.
The two of them seek refuge behind a particularly large tomb, and I rush to crouch down beside them. My knee brushes against Bes’s. He glances at me but I can’t meet his eye. Not when I’m moments away from betraying him.
Whoever they are, I doubt they’re trying to draw attention to themselves—although, they’re failing. The open graveyard allows us to hear them easier, without any buildings to muffle the sound.
Trapped in the heart of this cemetery until the heavy footfalls move on, I’m reminded of the first time I went to visit my mother’s grave when I was eight. The silence is always so much harsher among the dead. Like it might swallow you whole and spit you out as bones.
The footsteps grow louder and more synchronized. They’re too uniform—they must be soldiers.
I mouth, “Nazis?” Bes shakes his head. Then, “God Men?”
Bes shakes his head for a second time right as they march into view, shaped into grisly shadows cast by the lamplight.
“Their uniforms aren’t right,” he whispers. “They likely hail from Italy.”
Italy? “Why would Italy send soldiers to Cairo?”
“It’s Mussolini,” Cec explains. “He’s forcing farmers to become soldiers and shipping them off to Libya, one of their closest colonies.”
I stare at him. I had no idea Mussolini was turning his citizens into soldiers. Truly, what have I gotten myself into?
“But why? For what purpose?”
Bes’s eyes glint with ire. “Conquering for the sake of it. Mussolini plans to take over the old Roman Empire territories, and he’s sending in untrained civies to do it.”
Cec regards Bes. “I wonder if there are any OVRA soldiers in their ranks.”
Bes scratches at his jaw. “Perhaps a high-ranking officer to oversee the mission, but no more than that.”
“OVRA soldiers?” I huff. I can’t keep up with all the people who’d be more than happy to kill us.
Bes explains, “The OVRA are Mussolini’s secret police. The name stands for Organizzazione per la Vigilanza e la Repressione dell’Antifascismo.”
I raise a brow. “I can see why he shortened it.”
I recognize a few of the words and deduce their meaning without having to ask for clarification.
It shouldn’t surprise me that such a division exists.
Fascists revel in the power they have, but always hunger for more while at once refusing to give any of it up.
And God forbid you get in their way. Like the labor camps I’ve heard rumors about in Germany, built from the desire to suppress any and all Nazi foes from within.
It’s only a matter of time before they look without, like they have with the God Men.
It appears Mussolini has already achieved it.
When neither of them expound on the subject, I’m again faced with the quandary of where they learned all this.
I suppose they could read a lot of newspapers like I try to.
But they don’t strike me as the type—Cec especially, and not just because he’s mostly blind and would need someone to read the small print to him.
You don’t care, Mel. You can’t care.
Finally, the last echoing footsteps disappear into the night.
“Let’s go.” Bes beckons me, with Cec’s grip on his shoulder once more.
Now’s my chance. Pulling the Amulet of Amun from my neck, I deftly slip it into Cec’s left pocket. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
Once we’re nearly at the edge of the graveyard, I split off in another direction, opposite of where the Italian soldiers went.
It takes a bit of maneuvering, but I finally reach the other side of the graveyard.
Peeking around a tomb large enough to conceal me, I wait another second longer until I’m sure there are no more Italian soldiers hanging about.
I glance behind me as Bes and Cec hurry past the edge of the graveyard, far enough away I can barely see them in the half-light.
Swallowing hard, I turn from them and sprint toward the closest building, not daring to look back again.